Death in Her Hands
I would rather not be accosted by accountability, especially not by a mortal agent. I would die, but I would not die in his hand. Read More …
Category: Short Stories
Short Stories
The Man on the 7th
Why is it so much easier to feel the weight of moral responsibility now? Weren’t we talking about loneliness? Read More …
Inevitability
When as a child I looked at a map or a globe or out my window, I knew I lived in the middle of everything. I thought it meant something. Read More …
To Dust
She was raised elsewhere, where the smell of cow would linger. Read More …
A Lonely Dialogue
“Just Saturday it hit me. You know, I guess I’ve been feeling it for a while, just never put words to it. Death Cab for Cutie was what did it.” “That happens too much. You know the words, but one day the lyrics actually hit you. I know what you mean.” “No, it’s not that Read More …
Irony Still Hurts
Looking down the length of a pointer finger doing its job, I hear him intone once more, Don’t fall in love. Don’t you ever fall in love. It is obvious that he says this tongue-in-cheek because I can see it working the inside of his mouth, keeping him from clenching his exasperated jaw and filling Read More …
A Little Talk
Discomfort with solitary, calm, and quiet reflection keeps far too many of God’s creatures from the merest and profoundest blessings this good world offers to its harried inhabitants. The ferry carried George across the narrow bay with only one other passenger, both headed to a small island. George was purposefully seeking the isolation. His fellow Read More …
Peripheral Truths
My father tells me that my grandfather loved the outdoors. I only ever saw the man in his nursing home, and it used to be difficult for me to imagine him doing anything but sitting in a wheelchair and eating mashed potatoes. But I was seeing him through a child’s eyes. It is amazing how Read More …
There’s a Wind in the Leaves
Frank was born in the valley. It’s like an inheritance. Well, birthright is a better word. It’s his. It’s all he’s ever known. Not that he doesn’t know that there is more out there. The world is wide, so we’re told. The family isn’t far, just over the ridge, or that one over there, or Read More …
The Modern Writer
This has to be written. And no one else will write it. So he is writing. No one else would be shedding tears. No one else is shedding tears. At least not about what he is writing. Why should they? No one will read what he is writing. No one reads what anyone is writing. Read More …